A Flock of Argonauts
by pensandvinyl
Summary: "You can save people from a lot of things," said Emma heavily and, now resigned, she climbed to her feet. This time Neal let her go. "But you can't save someone from just being temporary." A sequel to Argo Navis and The Original Argonaut.
1. Carina

**Carina**

They kept Operation Hope near the kitchen, moving it from the fridge after it started to take up more space, and transforming the miniature entryway that led into the kitchen, Neal topping it with one of his hand-made signs.

Emma had adjusted the rules slightly for Porter too, allowing him some more materialistic items because kids _should_ want things like a new bike and video games. But while he would sometimes post ads for the newest _it_ toy (those never stayed up for long, Neal almost always bringing some contraption home, grinning at Emma's raised brow and, with a sheepish shrug, he would say, "Just because."), Porter's contributions to the former board usually consisted of a rotating cycle of fuzzy animals - dogs mostly, but cats made the list too, along with gerbils, horses and, during one very strange phase, an emu. Emma had tried to ban these from the wall, arguing that they would never have the farm full of livestock Porter so obviously wanted, but Neal had argued that everything but maybe the emu served as a legitimate wish.

(Mostly because Neal obviously wanted a dog too.)

But today Emma noticed a new addition to Hope. She caught it just out of the corner of her eye and she did a double take before promptly spitting out her coffee, blinking at the words owlishly because written in Porter's uneven scrawl (and followed by a smiley face) was: _Little Sister._

She stared at the board for quite some time before grabbing Neal by the shirt, pulling him away from whatever mindless Saturday cartoon he and Porter had on with a murmured, "We need to talk."

Porter didn't even blink as she dragged his father from the living room, depositing him at the kitchen's entrance and, jerking her head at Operation Hope, asked, in a somewhat accusatory tone, "Did you know about this?"

"No." A wide grin spread across his face, eyes twinkling with sudden mischief, Neal obviously missing the gravity of the situation. "Though I'd be up for getting started on number two. _Wanna -"_

" _Neal,"_ Emma scolded, "this is serious."

His brow furrowed. "Is it?"

Emma nodded.

"Only it's not, Em." He pointed out a picture of a dog, one of many, just below it, "he's been waiting on a pet for years now. He knows it's not gonna just up and happen."

"Yeah, but," Emma bit her lip, "do you think he's lonely?"

Neal, at least, gave this question proper consideration, before relenting. "Maybe. I don't know. He's always talking about one friend or another, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but none of them live nearby, do they?" she said practically, "He can't just go to a friend's house whenever he wants. Not unless we drive him."

Besides. They both knew that loneliness came in different shapes.

"We've talked about this though," Neal said and, at Emma's questioning look, he added, "Another baby."

They had.

And while both had agreed that another baby was absolutely something they both wanted, the words _someday_ always seemed to follow. Because they had new jobs and school and a house to finish. Except she had finished school and they had settled into their jobs and the house was finished. Things were _good._

Emma bit the pad of her thumb, eyes studying the slip of paper as if that would somehow reveal the hidden message it contained. One glance at Neal though, looking all crazy hopeful, said he wanted to jump. She just need to say go.

"Maybe it's time." She said the words carefully, as if they were a test, and found that she didn't mind them. She didn't mind them, at all, and Emma matched Neal's grin, big and bright, eyes crinkling.

The giddiness of this maybe, sorta decision took them through the weekend and then things changed.

Because trouble, Emma had learned over the years, always came in a set.

That wasn't her pessimism talking. Okay. It wasn't _just_ her pessimism talking, but things just always seemed to get worse before they got better. Neal broke his arm, for example, and then it rained and everything got all soggy because in their rush to get him to the hospital no one thought to cover the roof.

And it didn't even have to be cause and effect. Because Porter fell and then just two weeks later poor Mr. Portobello had a stroke. He made a full recovery, he was fine, but in her and Neal's attempt to help him out around the farm in the aftermath they also had to deal with, well, chaos. Because it wasn't just that Porter fell.

(Though, really? Wasn't that bad enough?)

"I just don't understand how you fell in the first place, Porter?" It had taken her and Neal some time to finally compose themselves but when they did, that was the first question she asked. "The trails are clearly marked and blocked off."

"I had to get the doll." And then he made a motion as if to say over.

Emma sputtered because it was such a ridiculous, stupid thing to do and the worst thing was that _The Doll,_ as Porter called it, hadn't been a doll, at all. It had been a body. A young boy no older than Porter himself and the police later told them that they had no idea how he could have even seen it in the first place.

"An adult couldn't lean over far enough to see where it'd been wedged, let alone a child."

And then they said he had been very lucky indeed to come out of that as well as he had.

The whole thing horrified Emma, and it got worse. Because despite refusing interview after interview, the incident still landed him on the news. He was the miracle child and then, suddenly, he had _solved_ a missing person's case that was years old. And so again, she tried to get the whole story out of him because she couldn't make sense of it. The only thing she could think was, maybe, Porter had been climbing on things he shouldn't have been. But when he said no, she couldn't detect the lie.

All she really got out of him was, "I just saw it."

So yes. She was worried. Because trouble never traveled alone and they still didn't know _why_ Porter had punched that Sam kid.

It kinda baffled her that Neal didn't feel the same.

"Of course I'm concerned, but Porter tells us everything. So I have to believe that there's a reason he's not telling us this."

So she agreed that they would give Porter a week. A week to tell them the truth. And she trusted, more than anything, that Neal would never do anything that might endanger their son. But in that time, Porter's behavior took a turn for the worse.

It got so bad that Emma would have gloated if the situation wasn't so serious.

First they had to sign a spelling test and yes, bad grades were bound to happen, but compare that to his long streak of gold stars and it was enough to raise a red flag. Then Neal caught Porter stealing from his wallet and food started to disappear from the fridge in ridiculously large quantities.

(Emma responded by stuffing money into his coat pockets and packing extra food into his lunch box. Because she had to believe Porter only had the best of intentions and she would much rather take part in his deception then watch as he lied to her face.)

She thought the streak would end with her lost cell phone (she'd spent all morning looking for it and seriously still couldn't find it anywhere). But no. It ended with a call from the school who apparently just wanted to confirm that Porter was sick, and the secretary, in a deceivingly sweet tone, made sure to remind her, "We ask parents to call in when they'll be keeping their child home for the day."

Emma's jaw clenched, "I didn't call in because he's not at home. I put him on the bus this morning."

"You saw him get on the bus?"

"Yes." Emma counted to three and then, very carefully, "Are you saying that you don't know where my son is?"

"I'm sure it's just a mistake." But the secretary's upper hand had crumbled and now she just sounded flustered.

"Well, then," Emma took that sickly sweet tone for herself, adding to it the promise of a threat, "Why don't you double check. I'll wait."

Neal had already left for work by this point, which Emma found rather unfortunate. A thousand different possibilities raced through her head, each even worse than the last, all ending with him down a cliff somewhere (because with that image came a very real reality.), and her legs buckled beneath her, Emma sliding down the kitchen wall, taking away the worry of holding herself up so that she could, maybe, think more practically. Because say nothing sinister had happened and he had only decided to play hooky. Where would he go?

"Ms. Swan?"

Emma straightened, "Yes?"

"He's not in class and his teacher says she hasn't seen him at all today."

Emma swallowed the lump forming in her throat, making a point to focus on her anger. "So my kid got off the bus and somewhere between there and the front door you just lost him."

"Ms. Swan, I understand -"

"- You're supposed to keep him safe." Only no, she realized. Yelling wouldn't help and while anger held her together, it wasn't productive. "I've got to go."

She called Neal and she had no conscious memory of what she said, but she must have gotten the right words out because when he replied, he was full of worry and plans. "I'll be right there. Call the police and I'll get Leo to call Effie. See if she can do anything."

A high-pitched sound escaped Emma of its own accord. Because Neal, who waffled between distrusting cops and downright fearing them, must think things were serious if he wanted to involve the authorities. And because it was right there. That image of Porter bruised and lifeless.

He said her name sharply, and then, louder, "Emma, baby, are you listening?"

She nodded and then remembered _phone._ "Yes."

One word and her voice still cracked.

"We'll find him, Emma." He adopted a lighter tone, but even Neal couldn't hide all his fear. "He's probably just playing video games -"

But Neal's words got mixed up with and drowned out by another, " - There's a bathroom through there -" and the words didn't register but the voice did. Because that was _Porter's_ voice carrying through the house, accompanied by the slam of a door.

"He's here."

"There?" Relief and baffled, Emma realized, sounded odd when mixed together.

" _Here._ " She scrambled to her feet and skidded into the hall where she didn't even hesitate. She just embraced him, taking in that Porter Swan scent (all library books and cinnamon and hay), wrapping her arms around him tight enough that he had to gasp out that he couldn't breathe.

"Porter." Relief coated his name as she pulled back, just enough to look at him critically, the forgotten phone grasped in a hand on his shoulder as Emma examined him for any sign of injury. She found none, thank God, and she pulled him back in for another hug. "Porter, where on earth were you? We were so worried."

"Mommy?" He sounded surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Emma blinked and then pulled back, squinting at him sharply. "What are _you_ doing here? Why aren't you in school?"

Porter's eyes widened in a sort of panic, moving quickly from side to side as he tried, Emma assumed, to come up with a reasonable excuse. Finally, he tried, "I needed to do something."

"You needed -" Emma sputtered and then squeezed her eyes shut.

"Is that Daddy?"

Indeed, that was Neal shouting through the phone, and so she brought it back up to her ear. "Don't change the subject. You're eight. The only thing you _need_ to do is go to school." She flinched. "Neal, baby, you don't need to yell."

Both Porter and Neal started talking at the same time, a flurry of excuses and questions, that got cut off by the unmistakeable sound of a toilet flushing. As Emma waffled between confusion and then suspicion, Porter took on the look of a deer caught in the headlights.

"I gotta go, Neal, Porter brought home a special guest."

His questions continued, cut off only when she hung up the phone, her question gaze remained fixed on her son. "Who is in my bathroom, Porter Neal?"

He did nothing but match her stare and while it was the opposite of a defiant glare, enough was enough. She reached for the doorknob, past the point of giving a damn about anyone's privacy. Not when she had a thousand horrible thoughts dancing in her head.

"Don't!" His shout came quick and loud and he tugged on her arm desperately. "Mommy, _please._ I promised I wouldn't tell."

"See, Porter, that just scares me more." Emma tugged the door open with a sharp jerk because this wasn't a game. But while she, maybe, had some horrible idea of who (or what) might be behind the door, the little girl staring nervously back at her definitely hadn't made the list.

"I can explain."

"Porter." She was really, very calm. It was amazing, really, just how calm she was considering how many things were wrong right now. "Go to your room." He protested and with her gaze trained on the little girl, who had taken to looking nervously between Emma and Porter, she finished with a firm, " _Now."_

"She had nowhere else to go," Porter told her and, maybe, if he hadn't just scared her half-to-death with his little disappearing act, Emma might have managed, at the very least, a twinge of pride. "Her mother just left her."

"She's coming back." This seemed very important to the girl that she know this and Emma painted on her most reassuring smile as she pointed to the ether with a finger still shaking from nerves and, maybe now, the cruelty of _some_ people.

" _Room_ , Porter."

"But I have to pay the cab driver."

"The cab … Oh, for the love … _Room,_ Porter, now." A thought occurred to her. "And my cell phone, Porter."

He reluctantly pulled her phone from his pocket and then stomped the whole way.

Emma regarded the girl for a moment. Smudges of dirt marred her skin, and despite looking in desperate need of a hot meal, her clothes still showed a good deal of her ankles and wrists. Her overall size made it hard to tell, probably due to a serious lack of nourishment, but she looked close to Porter's age - maybe a year or two younger.

"I have to -" Emma pointed outside before she nodded down the hall. "Did Porter tell you about the swing? We have one inside." Neal had put it in for Porter when the Northeast winters got a little too cold and everyone got a little too stir crazy stuck inside. "You can check it out if you want."

She considered this, eyes turning in that direction curiously, before she stepped forward hesitantly as Emma grabbed the purse she kept by the door. "It's right by the stairs."

Resisting the urge to take her frustration out on the door, Emma approached the cab driver who, not seeing any kind of problem, just echoed a number at her and slowly, deliberately, Emma counted out the bills. She made to hand it to him, before snatching her hand back, leaning forward.

"You and I have a problem," she glanced at his license, " _Frank._ And right now I'm trying to decide if you're the blessing in disguise that kept my son from hitchhiking or someone I need to report -"

" - Look, lady -"

Emma raised a brow because _really_ and Frank deflated. "I just need to know where you took my son. This seems pretty steep for a ride between here and the school."

"Just to pick up that little girl." Emma stared pointedly. "I swear."

"I'm gonna need that address." She plastered on her sweetest, fakest smile, "And Frank? If I find out you're picking up any other minors without their parents' permission we're gonna have a problem."

(She had no idea if that was actually against the law or not, but it seemed like it should be.)

Frank swallowed and when he handed Emma the address, she traded it for the money. He skidded out of the driveway, kicking up dust in his wake. She took a moment, tried to gather her composure and then found the little girl sitting on the swing, fingering the rope as she looked around curiously only flinching when she caught sight of Emma.

"It's okay." Emma's mouth lifted slightly, forming a gentle and (hopefully) calming smile as she held out her hand, wriggling her fingers for the little girl to take. She hesitated and Emma crouched until they were at the same eye level. "We're just going to the kitchen. I figured we could get something to eat."

Another moment of hesitation and then a cold, sweaty hand slipped into hers. Emma squeezed gently, leading her around the corner, questions and plans running through her head. Because she had an obligation to call the police. Something Porter must have known. But she could, maybe, try to find out some information first. Before the police took her back from wherever she came from or, given the way Porter had described the situation, threw in the system. Something that would most definitely shut down the information highway, putting up a roadblock that both Emma and Neal, even with all their connections, would have a hard time getting around.

(She so wished Porter had just come to them first. It wouldn't change much, but people tended to offer at least a smidgen more cooperation if proper procedures were followed.)

"I'm Emma, by the way. Porter's mom if you hadn't guessed. Here," Emma pulled out one of the stools in front of the island, spinning it around because kids loved that (well, her kid at least), and then gave it a quick pat, indicating she should climb up. "Would you like some hot chocolate … Sorry, I didn't catch your name, sweetheart."

The girl bit her lip. She looked even smaller sitting down.

Finally, barely above a whisper, she offered, "Carina."

"Carina." Emma smiled, "That's a beautiful name."

Carina ducked her head, a hint of red heating her cheeks.

"Would you like some hot chocolate, Carina?"

This question also required some thought but when she nodded, it at least seemed enthusiastic and Emma matched it with another smile, turning to get the water ready. "Now how about some food. Are you hungry?"

The nod came much quicker this time.

Emma pressed her lips together in thought, taking a quick inventory, before grabbing a bag of party mix from the pantry, pouring a bit out on the counter. That should get Carina started while she surveyed the fridge for something more substantial. She had deduced that this was the person getting the extra food in Porter's lunch. She had made it a point to pack his least favorites - egg salad and tuna fish - hoping that utter disgust might force his hand and something twisted in her gut because, quite possibly, Carina had been stuck with nothing but Porter's lousy cast-offs for however long.

"How about grilled cheese? That sound any good?" Something warm might do her some good and Carina agreed, nodding with such enthusiasm that Emma couldn't help but laugh. "That's my favorite." She grabbed the cheese and the butter and then deciding that Carina could probably do with something a bit more balanced, grabbed some fruit too.

"Mine too," The words were soft but they caught Emma by surprise and she nearly dropped the orange she was trying to balance.

"Me three!"

Porter had shouted from down the hall and Emma didn't miss a beat, shouting right back. "Don't make me come get you, Porter Neal, because you will not like it when I do" She indicated this was an empty threat (though Porter was past pushing his luck) to Carina with a shake of her head and exaggerated eye roll. "He should know better by now. Not to disappear without telling anyone. Not your fault, of course," Emma assured Carina, voice slightly strained as she reached to unhook a pan from the iron rack that hung above the island, "but he did cause a bit of a panic."

Bit was an understatement, but noticing the shame-filled look Carina gave the counter, Emma switched back to the proven safe topic. "But grilled cheese, huh? You know what I like mine with?"

Carina shook her head, biting hesitantly into a miniature pretzel after pushing a checkered square off to the side. Porter didn't like those either and it was always Neal that finished them off.

"I like to dip it in a nice big bowl of tomato soup." Carina scrunched her nose and Emma laughed. "Have you even tried it?" She signaled another no and when Emma asked if she wanted to, Carina gave a big shrug, causing Emma to nod decisively. "I think we should try it."

She made enough sandwiches for four, expecting Neal to come rushing in any minute now, and poured the soup into a pot, lighting a third burner before starting on the fruit salad, peeling oranges, slicing bananas and strawberries, and mixing them into a big bowl with blueberries and a mix of purple and green grapes. When the kettle whistled she remembered, suddenly, that work was past expecting her and so as she added the boiling water to the mugs, she dialed work and filled them in on which appointments could be rescheduled and which someone would have to take over, finally promising Hannah that she would fill her in on the details later. Then, both hands free again, she dolloped on the whipped cream and cinnamon to her and Porter's before, catching Carina's curious gaze, she started, "Would you-"

The front door slammed shut, cutting Emma off, the sudden noise causing Carina to flinch.

"That's just Neal," Emma assured her over the desperate call of her name. "Port's father. In here, babe." She slid the hot chocolate across the island, followed by the cinnamon just in case and then held up the whipped cream canister in the show of a silent question. Carina nodded and Emma heaped on a generous amount, nodding at the spice, "It's good. Hey."

Neal had entered the kitchen with rumpled clothes, red-rimmed eyes, and hair that stuck up at odd angles. Emma offered a tight smile.

"He's really back?" His voice was rough as he sought the confirmation and, maybe, Emma should have passed along more details to accompany the bits and pieces he might have picked up before she hung up on him.

"Just waltzed in through the front door," She jerked her head at Carina, "With a friend."

He regarded Carina for a moment and asked, "Is this?"

The reason behind Porter's odd behavior? Emma nodded. She had to be.

His jaw tensed, "That doesn't -"

"Excuse Porter's actions today?" She finished shortly. "No, I agree. He's in his room." And then, louder and far firmer, "Or should be."

The unmistakable sounds of Porter scurrying off reached her once more.

Neal let out a sigh. A heavy, exhausted sort of thing, almost as if he had held it in the whole ride home. Below the cover of the country and out of Carina's view, Emma found his hand and squeezed tightly, offering him a strength that allowed the tense lines of his body to steadily relax until he loosened up enough to grin across the counter at Carina.

"Hello." Neal held out his hand which, after an encouraging nod from Emma, Carina shook gingerly. "I'm Neal."

"Carina."

"I see Emma's got you hooked on her cinnamon-hot-chocolate monstrosity already." His voice was light and teasing and Emma rolled her eyes as she slid sandwiches from pan to plate. "I can't stand it myself."

"That's because he has no taste." Emma nudged him playfully before slicing the kids' sandwiches in quarters, offering Carina a conspirator's wink and receiving a surprising girlish giggle in reply. She turned, masking a relieved smile (because that had to be a good sign), by stirring the soup.

"I'm wounded." His voice remained amused, but she caught his gaze, intense and serious, as he handed her four bowls.

"Let it cool a moment," Emma warned Carina (and Neal, she supposed, as he looked ready to dive in too), scooping out soup and then fruit salad, and sliding it all across the island.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." She started to a load a tray for Porter and glanced at Neal, "Do you wanna take this into him?"

"Not particularly." His tone and the fact that he hadn't rushed to check on Porter hadn't escaped Emma. Neal didn't get mad at Porter, not to this extent, but he picked up the tray anyway, sparing a final glance at Carina, who was far too busy eating to pay the words much attention. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Carina."

Neal passed Emma closely, leaning in to her, finger giving the counter a quick tap before gripping the tray once more. "Effie," he murmured and Emma gave a minute nod, understanding that Neal had blown the horn. He had probably signaled to Leo as he'd been telling her he would.

It pressed her time table, but Effie would be on their side. She could make sure Carina got taken care of properly. At least until Emma could, hopefully, weasel her way back in and make good use of her own connections.

 _Still …_

She regarded Carina carefully for a moment, watching as she dunked her grilled cheese into the bowl with gusto. "Carina, do you have any family you would like me to call for you?" Not the mother, of course, and considering one's behavior she could guess that the father wasn't much of an option either. "Like a grandparent maybe?"

"There's Mommy," Carina told her and then, confidently, "She'll be back soon."

Carina believed that and maybe she would come back, but even if she did, that didn't mean she was fit to care for a child. Parents shouldn't leave children to fend for themselves. End of story.

She reached out a hand, covering Carina's smaller one, and offering a slight smile, she told her fiercely (and maybe stupidly), "I'm going to help _you,_ Carina. I promise."

And no matter what, Emma would fight to keep that promise.


	2. Lost Girls

**Lost Girls**

It was her twenty-third birthday when the Swans suddenly reentered her life because of course. They seemed to have a thing with her birthday. But there had been a knock on the door and a baby-faced intern for some law firm out of Boston asked for Emma Swan.

"This is for you," he said, handing her an envelop and then, when he stood there, staring and obviously expectant, Emma handed him a tip that seemed to finally startle him into leaving.

She opened the envelop and read, blinked, and then read it a couple more times before stuffing it in her back pocket when Neal had entered the kitchen, brimming with excitement over the surprise he had planned for her birthday.

(It had been a trip to Cape Cod for the weekend. Which she had known about for weeks. Because Neal sucked at keeping secrets. Also, the beach on her birthday had become a sort of thing.)

Remembering the disaster that occurred the last time the Swans had become an issue, Emma neglected to tell Neal anything at all. In fact, she didn't say anything to anyone about it until her second breakfast of the day with Effie, interrupting her friend's lengthy tale about her adventurous date the night before with an abrupt, "I need a favor."

This was how they ended up hurtling down the interstate toward Boston, Effie on her cell, using her police connections to track down an address Emma probably shouldn't have been asking for.

They parked across the street and sat. Emma hadn't yet decided if she was waiting, stalling, or just losing her mind.

"You should read this," Effie told her, waving the letter that had been stuffed in with everything else, and Emma knew better than to be surprised that Effie had taken some initiative.

"No."

"Seriously though," Effie insisted, "I get why you wouldn't want to and everything, but I also remember what you asked me when I wanted to get custody of Saff, right." Emma frowned. "You remember. You said it was a big responsibility and I had to be sure because I wouldn't be just her sister now, I'd have to be her parent too. And if I wasn't sure then I shouldn't do it because it wouldn't be fair to her."

"Right," said Emma carefully, "but they had already said -"

"And I had already told Saffron I'd take her in," said Effie flatly. "That she wouldn't have to move across the country to live with our deadbeat dad. Long before I knew anyone would give me custody. I didn't think about it, I just did it. Because I loved her and I wanted her to feel safe and so I hoped it would be true." Emma stared blankly and Effie rolled her eyes. "They love you, Ems, and they want you to be safe and they had hoped they could adopt you but sometimes circumstances change and tough decisions have to be made." She cocked her head to the side. "That's what you'll find in the letter. If you ever man up and read it." She set the envelop on the dashboard and opened the door, nodding down the street, "I'm gonna see if I can get a coffee from that cafe down there. Just think about it, okay?"

Emma nodded and swallowed thickly, thinking about the letter and the other that came with it. The ones the lawyers had written, informing her about a savings bond the Swans had set aside in her name, along with a bunch of other legal mumbo jumbo. And then there was that donation to the Youth Center back in Tallahassee. None of it made any sense.

Just like it didn't make any sense that she would sit back and actually read the letter. Everything inside her screamed that she shouldn't. But she did.

And then, perhaps the least sensible thing of all was when Emma slipped a photo of Porter out of her back pocket. She scribbled out a name and his birthday and then, for some strange reason (but maybe because that bond meant that Porter would definitely have the future she almost didn't), she wrote _thank you_ before she slipped out of the bug and put it in their mailbox.

Effie, who had sneaked back into the car, smiled when she returned.

And maybe Emma hadn't understood then. About how someone could make a promise they didn't know they could keep, but she was starting to understand now.

Emma followed Carina as far as she could. She sat with her in the back of Effie's car, passing along as much info to Effie as she could and then conspiring with her to hide the full extent of Porter's involvement. She then weaseled her way into the exam room at the hospital where Carina got poked and prodded. Emma gave her a hand to squeeze and Carina clung to it through the exam and the follow-up interrogation, both getting asked an awful lot of questions. Emma fudged details with a master hand and confronted the overly intimidating officer whenever he took things a step too far, expertly backed up by Effie when she decided, "Enough is enough," because his questions were clearly far too intrusive for a little girl who had a long day that would end in an unfamiliar place.

(Carina would have to answer the questions eventually, of course, but it could wait.)

Emma, however, could only do so much. Despite Effie's badge and her and Neal's numerous connections, Carina would get placed in a foster home while her caseworker conducted a thorough investigation about Carina and her family and how she could have possibly come to live on her own. After, when they had a pile of paperwork and probably more questions than what they had started with, they would decide how to move forward.

It left Emma with this horrible, sickly feeling in her stomach and before she could really process the meaning and potential consequences, she abruptly offered, "She could stay with us."

She knew the rules of course and didn't need the stern look on the social worker's face to know that it would never fly. But the words settled and it felt like the right solution so she barreled ahead, making a case she hadn't exactly prepared for under the critical gaze of Mrs. Baxter.

"She knows us and she clearly trusts us. We have plenty of room for her and you know me and _Neal._ " They tended to cross paths with a number of social workers these days thanks to their respective jobs. Far more than Emma would like. "You know that we have more experience with this type of stuff than most people and isn't _that_ better than putting her with strangers given all she's dealt with. All she's _going_ to have to deal with?

"Even if that is true, Ms. Swan," said Mrs. Baxter, clearly skeptical, "It goes against rules and regulations. We can only place children with certified foster parents."

What Emma really wanted to do was make a scathing comment on the supposed rigid screening process of the system, but anger never got her anywhere with these people and so instead, with a forced calm, she said, "I'm not sure you can find anyone more official than Youth Advocate and the Assistant Director of the city's most popular Youth Center."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Swan," and she _almost_ sounded it, "but my hands are tied."

Swallowing down the sudden urge to punch something, Emma masked her frustration behind a reassuring smile and her best, nothing-to-worry-about eyes as she made her way back into Carina's room, the facade nearly crumbling as she laughed at some cartoon on the television.

Emma settled into the chair next to the bed and taking the remote she nodded at the tv, "Can I?"

Carina shrugged and Emma shut off the television, forcing herself to look the little girl dead on.

"So Mrs. Baxter out there," she gestured toward the window that overlooked the bustling hall, pointing out the official looking woman talking on her cell phone, "is going to find you a real nice place to stay, okay?"

Carina frowned, "But Mommy ..."

"I know." The words came out harshly, but now was not the time to tell her the truth about her mother. It didn't matter what Emma thought of her. So she gave a tight smile and softened, "I know it's not what you wanted. I know it's not home. But it will be warm and you'll have lots of food and a place to sleep. You'll be safe."

Carina remained silent and unwavering, even as Emma leaned forward, running a hand over her freshly washed hair, pressing a gentle kiss against her temple, whispering, "But I haven't forgotten my promise."

And she wouldn't. They just had two very different ideas about what, exactly, that promise meant.

"I _will_ help you," she swore, wrapping her hand around Carina's and, when she refused to open her tightly clamped fingers, Emma leaned back, pointedly setting a frayed piece of paper onto the nightstand, "And if you ever need anything, _anything_ at all, then I want you to call me."

The paper was acknowledged with a flicker of the eyes and Emma climbed awkwardly to her feet, ending with "I'll see you later, Carina," because a straight-up goodbye felt far too much like giving up.

She spent the ride home, head leaning heavily against the passenger's window of Effie's car, coming up with plans and back-up plans and then constructed a list of things she and Neal needed to have a long talk with Porter about.

Effie, for once, spent very little of this time trying to fill the silence. Not until they had come to a stop in front of the house. "It'll be alright."

Emma raised a brow. She wasn't so sure, but she asked anyway, "Did you ever regret making that promise to Saff?"

"No." The word came with ease and confidence, but Emma still doubted it.

"Really? Not even when it looked like it wouldn't work out?"

(Because talk about impossible. Effie had been a struggling college student at the time, fighting her estranged father after her mom had passed. Real lawyers wouldn't take her on and Emma, anyway, had been all they could afford.)

Effie smiled, "You were fighting for us. Of course it was going to work out." Emma rolled her eyes and Effie shrugged, "It's true. Besides it gave her something to hold onto."

Emma frowned. "Isn't that false hope though?"

"Only if you don't follow through."

Emma smiled tightly. Because see? She wasn't so sure she could.

X-x-x-x-x-x-X

Eliza hadn't. It was harder to hold it against her now, but it was still the truth.

It had taken an unfortunate set of circumstances but she had, somehow, managed to find herself in a room with Eliza Swan, the intern that had delivered the letter and details of the savings bond returning some time later with some grave news. Only it turned out he wasn't just the intern.

"I'm Hugo," he said, looking far worse than the last time she saw him, "Hugo Swan."

The surprise of it had caused her to nearly slam the door in his face, keeping the barrier between them, until he screamed the fact, "Mom's dying."

She faced him then, her features set in grim lines, her body rigid as she listened, "She has cancer. The doctors have done all they can. And now," Hugo swallowed thickly before he choked the words out, "Now she wants to say goodbye."

Neal appeared behind her and, after a long argument that Emma somehow lost, she, Porter and Neal found themselves following her almost brother up to Boston.

Bennett, now frail-looking and grey, greeted her awkwardly and it looked like he wanted to hug her, but he settled for an awkward handshake before he nodded at a closed door. "She's right through there."

Emma didn't approach the bed. She didn't sit down. She didn't say a word. She just stood stiffly by the door and tried not to think about how frail and weak Eliza looked. In her memories she was an amazon - strong and beautiful, commanding yet gentle.

"Emma?" Eliza croaked. Which was strange because she hadn't opened her eyes. "Emma? It's you, isn't it. Even at two the smell of cinnamon always seemed to follow you around."

"Yeah," she started, but her voice cracked and the word failed to reach a volume suitable for human ears so she tried again, and this time her voice came out too loud, "Yeah. It's me."

She turned, squinting, the simple task seeming to take an impossible amount of effort. The gentle smile that followed, one that Emma had held onto longer than she should have, came with a certain ease. "You're beautiful."

Emma shifted uneasily. "I don't understand you."

"No," Eliza agreed, the word garbled by a sudden coughing fit. Emma hesitated and then stepped forward, handing her the cup of water on her bedside table. She drank greedily before continuing, "No, I don't suppose you would. You'll let me explain though, won't you?"

Emma shrugged and tried for something nonchalant, "Sure."

It wasn't like she could deny a dying woman what she wanted.

(Though honestly? She wanted to know. Probably more than she should. )

Eliza didn't say anything at first and for a moment Emma thought she must have fallen asleep, but when she finally did speak, her voice seemed to regain some of its strength.

"I had wanted to make it official since the day we'd brought you home. Bennett had his reservations. Not that he didn't adore you, but he had just started his new business and they hadn't turned much of profit yet. He seemed to think that meant no one would approve our application and maybe they wouldn't have. But it did take off - "

"You seem to have done remarkably well," noted Emma dryly.

"Yes, well." Eliza coughed and sipped some water and then continued on, "Hugo was a surprise. A brilliant one, of course, and I know what you must think -"

" - It doesn't matter -"

"No," said Eliza with a sudden sharpness that wavered soon after, "No, it does. I've thought about it for years. Worried how we could have done things differently. Wondered if we should have listened -"

Emma furrowed her brow, "Listened?"

"He just showed up one day," she said, "out of the blue. The boy that found you on that highway. You know that story, don't you?"

"Yes," said Emma carefully.

"He just showed up and he said he hadn't just found you. He had come with you. He was your protector."

It was then Emma realized that Eliza, sick as she was, probably had enough drugs in her system to keep her stoned out of her mind.

"This was a mistake. I should - "

Eliza's hand shot out and with cold fingers, she grabbed Emma's arm with a surprising strength. "We didn't believe him at first either. It was a child's tale, really. Literally out of a fairytale. It had other worlds and curses and saviors. He told us that you had a destiny, Emma, and that we needed to make a decision. Because either we could help you fulfill it or we needed to do the right thing and let you go. Of course, how could that possibly be the right thing? Even if it were true. And when he left we laughed and put the visit right out of our minds. At least we tried to."

Eliza paused to drink and really, this was so much worse than Emma imagined. But the worst part? She couldn't even get mad. Not in a serious way. Not when Eliza really truly believed what she was saying.

"We didn't think anything of it until one day - I must have turned my back for two minutes and when I looked back ... Well, you and Hugo were covered in jam. It was your favorite." She smiled fondly. "This horrible, purple sticky stuff that you always seemed to find your way into. No matter where I put it. Finally, I found a place that was out of your reach. But there you were and I knew then that boy was telling the truth."

Emma scoffed. "Because I got into some jam? I have a kid, Eliza, they get into shit -"

"The cabinet was locked, Emma." There was a weight to her words that made Emma swallow her own. "But there were other things. Strange things. Strange enough that we realized the boy was telling the truth."

The hand that held her in place had fallen away, but Emma remained fixed. "I'm not sure I understand what that is?"

"That you're from another world. That you were sent here to break a terrible curse. That you have magic."

The laugh that bubbled over was cold and mocking and, maybe, slightly hysterical.

"Emma -"

" - You know what? It's fine, Eliza -"

Eliza cut over her, "It was a mistake." Silence followed the announcement and Emma deflated. "We let him get in our head and I kept thinking. What if she does have a destiny? Am I the right person to prepare her for that? And the answer was no because the only thing I wanted to do was protect you from the world until you were prepared for it. But I couldn't prepare you for curses and magic."

"No," agreed Emma dryly, "that would be ridiculous."

"You think I don't know how this sounds?"

Emma sighed, "I think you're sick, Eliza."

"Yes, well -" Eliza took another sip of water. "It doesn't matter because it was a mistake. I was your mother," Emma's features tightened, "or I would have been and I should have never tried to let someone else tell me what was best for you. I should have known and I shouldn't have let some far off, distant thing control our life."

Emma swallowed thickly.

"I can't do anything to change that. I wish that I could. I really do. But I can't. You can though. You're gonna have a choice, Emma, whether you believe me or not. You're going to be faced with a choice." She smiled again. "I saw the picture. Your little boy? He's beautiful and he looks just like you."

Emma snorted in spite of herself. "He looks like his father."

"Maybe," she relented, "but he definitely has your chin. What I meant to say though, Emma, is -"

But Emma already had a pretty good idea and when the words came out they were also half-accusing. "I always put my son first. _Always._ "

"Good," said Eliza hoarsely, "That's good."

"I should let you rest." She hesitated and then, before she could think too much and second guess herself she took that final step and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Goodbye, Eliza."

Emma was at the door when she said it, barely a whisper, "I love you, Emma."

With the door closed behind her, Emma leaned heavily against it, squeezing her eyes shut tightly as Neal and Porter approached her, hugs and comforting words at the ready.

"It could have been worse," Emma told Neal when he asked how it went. Her eyes flickered to Bennett and Hugo standing silently in the corner and she lowered her voice even further. "She was high as a kite so ..."

Neal shuffled awkwardly. "Maybe we should -"

"Go," Emma sagged with relief, "Sure."

"Let Porter see her."

"No. What? No. _No."_ The fact that Neal would even suggest it was baffling.

"I'll go in with him. Just," he shrugged helplessly, "she's about all he's gonna get for a grandmother. It might be good for him."

Emma sputtered, "How?" Did he not remember the dying part? Apparently not because, after Porter started to beg, they went in anyway before exiting five minutes later, Porter seemingly untraumatized.

"He just wanted to give her a hug," said Neal with a shrug as she lifted Porter, letting him settle on her hip, head settling in the crook of her neck.

X-x-x-x-X

She never bothered to tell Neal what Eliza had said, though he had asked. But on the one hand it was just the ridiculous ramblings of dying woman. On the other it felt private. It was a moment she had waited a long time for and she couldn't decide if it was disappointing or not. It certainly hadn't been what she expected. Because really, the only true dissatisfaction she felt was at the thought of a door closing that could never be reopened.

It was a stupid way to feel and Neal had a way of making it feel not stupid.

("She was a big part of your life," Neal kissed her temple as she cuddled into his side. "The good and the bad. It's like with my dad, right? No matter what he did I'll always love him.")

But he was good like that. In a lot of ways.

He even waited up for her well past midnight despite the long, trying day.

"Hey," she murmured walking right into his embrace. "You should have gone to bed."

He grunted an acknowledgment, waving this off, and she sighed, "How'd things go with Porter?"

He didn't say anything and Emma pulled back, finding a heavy look on his face. "Really? That bad? Did he -"

She trailed off, eyes catching a glimpse of Porter walking into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Mommy?

She rubbed Neal's shoulder apologetically, stepping back, "You should be asleep, honey."

"I wanted to see Carina."

Emma let out a heavy sigh and crouched in front of him. "She's not here, honey, but I promise we found her a real nice place to stay."

Porter's lower lip wobbled and Emma stood, lifting him into her arms as he asked. "But _why_ couldn't she stay here?"

It was a short walk through the kitchen to the attached stables that Neal had converted into a set of rooms and Emma laid Port down on his bed, tucking the covers up to his chin, regarding him for a long moment before she admitted, "That's just not how it works."

"But you liked her, didn't you?" Porter prompted with wide eyes.

"Of course I did," agreed Emma, "but it's a little more complicated than that."

He looked at her skeptically and so she admitted apologetically, "I don't have a good answer for you."

"But your job," he cried, "you _said -"_

The sight of Porter so obviously upset was enough for Emma to forget her own exhaustion and nearly all the drama he had caused earlier. She smoothed his hair and shushed him, leaning down until they were practically nose to nose.

"I said that I always keep fighting for them," she reminded him in a low, soothing whisper, caressing his cheek with a calloused thumb, "until I know that they're safe and that's what I'll do with Carina too."

His lower lip wobbled. "You promise?"

"I promise," she swore and even though she probably would have promised him anything at this point, she meant it. "But we just have to be patient. These sorts of things take time."

He nodded and, quite unsuccessfully, tried to hide a giant yawn.

"Alright," said Emma, smiling fondly, "time to go to sleep. We can talk about it in the morning. Along with your punishment."

"Daddy said I'm not allowed to do anything ever again ever," Porter nestled deeper into his cocoon of blankets. "He was real mad."

"You scared him, Port," she smoothed back his unruly hair, "both of us. We didn't know where you were. Or how to find you." She regarded him critically. "You understand why you were wrong don't you?"

Porter nodded and then began speaking very fast. "Because I shouldn't wander off alone because it's dangerous and I could get hurt or lost, _but_ Mommy. Carina was alone. I just wanted to help her. Like you and Daddy do all the other kids."

Her lips inched upwards, forming the slightest of smile of their own accord.

"And while that was very sweet of you, Port," she said, juggling the delicate balance of proud and stern, "sometimes the best thing we can do to help someone is admit we don't know how and ask someone else for help."

"But when I got help Carina was taken away and she really wanted to wait for her mom to come back." He leaned toward her, whispering conspiratorially, "she _always_ comes back."

Emma smiled sadly.

"Just because she always comes back, Port, doesn't mean she should have left Carina alone." And, when she saw that Porter had scrunched his features in confusion, she asked, "What do Daddy and I do when we have to do something and we can't take you?"

"I have to go to a babysitter," he grumbled but then, as the obvious thought occurred to him, he brightened considerably, adding, "You can leave me alone if you want."

Considering the trouble he got into _under_ watch no, they really couldn't. "That wouldn't be fair to you. Just like it wasn't fair to Carina that her mother just left her to fend for herself. You said it yourself, honey. Carina needed your help, right?" He nodded. "So think about how much worse off she would have been if you hadn't come along."

Porter bit his lip, understanding begin to form in his features, before he asked, "But why would her mom do that?"

Every answer she had - such as selfishness or unpreparedness or flat out neglectfulness - was worse than the last. She didn't know the full truth, and there was never a good reason, but she wasn't quite ready to paint over Porter's hopeful picture of the world with her own sourness.

"That's part of what we have to find out," she told him, brushing back Porter's hair soothingly, "but now, because you helped her, Carina will have a warm place to sleep and food in her belly and someone to hug her if she has nightmares."

Porter's eyes fluttered shut and she kissed his cheek. "I'll bet she'll like that."

Emma certainly hoped so. There was, however, the matter of one more things and in his sleep-deprived state she might actually get an honest answer this time around. "Porter, there's one thing I still don't understand. What did all of this have to do with Sam?"

"Nothing." He turned sheepish, "I needed a distraction. So no one would find her getting food."

Gotta love that eight-year-old logic. At least he had apologized.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, honey?" She gave his covers another good tuck. Nice and snug.

"I'm really glad you're my Mommy and Daddy's my Daddy."

Emma smiled.

"We're really glad that you're our Porter." She tapped his nose playfully, getting a giggle in response, and then kissed his forehead gently, "Sleep now. I love you."

"Love you too, Mommy."

She turned the lights off and slipped out of the room, nearly tripping over Neal who had settled outside the door, his head leaning heavily against the wall.

"If it helps," she murmured, grabbing a hand and tugging him to his feet, "he's not declaring his undying hatred for you." Neal winced. "He's not."

"I was too harsh with him," he admitted, voice hoarse, as they stepped back into the kitchen, "just the thought of anything happening to him." He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, "I snapped."

Emma rummaged through the door for a fork and, realizing sleep probably wasn't gonna be an option tonight, pulled out the leftovers Neal had set aside for her, "I would have done exactly what you did if I had the chance. He needed that, Neal, so he could understand. The only reason you're feeling guilty right now is because he's Porter and somehow he's the sort of person that wraps his irresponsibility up in good deeds."

Neal snorted.

"But maybe," continued Emma after a few bites, "we agree that we can't give Porter quite so much freedom in the future."

"Right," agreed Neal flatly, "I'm sorry about that, Em, I -"

Emma cut him off with a wave of her fork. "It wasn't an accusation, Neal."

Maybe, if things had ended badly she would be singing a different tune, but Neal had been mostly right. They had both just failed to realized how resourceful Porter could be.

He accepted her words with a stiff nod, though he still looked like he had a fair bit of extra weight stuck to his shoulders. Something Emma suspected only Porter could chip away at.

"You got back pretty late," noted Neal, concern crossing his features, "Carina doing alright?"

"She's angry," said Emma bluntly, taking a large bite of pasta, chewing deliberately. "Scared, probably." She sighed, guilt twisting her stomach into knots. She had tried to paint it as a good thing to Porter, and it was certainly better than where she'd started the day, but it still felt like she hadn't done enough. "They're putting her in a foster home for now. While they do an investigation. But if they don't find any family that'll take her then it'll turn into a more permanent solution. Effie said she's going to look into it for me, but -"

Emma finished with a shrug. Typically these sorts of cases tended not to get the happy ending treatment.

Neal gave her an intense, pointed look.

"It's fine," she said shortly and then, following Neal's gaze, she found a half a plate of spaghetti wrapped around her fork. She set it down, pushing the plastic container away in frustration. "I don't know if I'm going to be able to keep my promise to her, Neal."

Emma focused on resealing her food, ignoring Neal as he studied her.

"Come here." He held out his hand, not wavering until she finally took it. He led her out of the kitchen, turning the lights off as they passed the switch, and then tugged her past the stairs that would have led to the comfort of their bed, instead leading her into the living room, settling down on their couch, patting the cushion next to him. When she didn't relent right away, he rolled his eyes and tugged until Emma collapsed next to him.

"It's late, Neal."

"I wanna tell you something," he said, "but lie down if you want."

"Can't it wait till morning." She'd already dealt with so many ridiculous conflicting emotions today. Now he wanted to talk about them?

Neal patted his legs. "Come on."

Emma rolled her eyes but laid down anyway, head settling on the arm rest as he tugged her feet into his lap.

"I saw you today." His hand wrapped around one of her feet and, with the perfect amount of pressure, began to give her a massage. "You were good with her. And I mean, I always knew that you were good at your job and that you cared about the people you took on, but I dunno - There's something about seeing you in action. I hadn't realized that you were _that_ good."

Emma snorted.

"I'm serious," he told her and his hands continued expertly enough that her muscles at least began to relax even if the rest of her couldn't quite manage it. "But there's something different about this. Something personal. And it's not just that our kid got involved first. It's not even that'll he be disappointed if things don't work out quite like he planned."

"If I don't do my job correctly then it can have a pretty big impact on these kids, Neal."

"Hey." Neal threw his hands up in mock defense, causing Emma to protest feebly because she had actually started to get into the foot massage, thank you very much. Neal chuckled and continued, "I get it. I do. But that's not what I'm talking about."

She didn't say anything for a while and Neal continued his administrations, eventually moving on to her other foot. But no matter how good it felt (and Neal had become an expert on all things her body over the years), he was also quite good at knowing what buttons to push. He knew what to say and how far to take it and when to use silence until she just couldn't stand it anymore.

"The only way to really help her," admitted Emma, "was to put her in the foster system where she would have people to look after her."

"But you help foster kids all the time." His fingers trailed up her ankle and to her leg where he began kneading her calf muscles.

"Yeah." Her eyes drifted closed, "But with them, usually ... I dunno. I'm giving them a voice, right? I'm helping them fix their problems and maybe, when we're done working together, they've gotten back something they've lost. Or they have the tools to get it back, right? But this time ..."

She sighed. This heavy sort of thing, pleasure unwittingly mixing with the sound. But, somewhat disappointedly, Neal took no notice, not even when she tried trailing a toe up his thigh. Instead he just switched legs and prompted, "This time?"

She squinted accusingly, "You're teasing me."

"I'm helping you relax," he said pointedly.

"By teasing me."

"And you're avoiding the question. But I can stop," He raised a brow, releasing her leg, and Emma groaned in protest, "If you want."

"No," she grumbled because it had felt good and it _had_ been a long day.

Calloused fingers found her leg again, "Finish your thought then."

She turned, eyes staring at wooden beams and high ceilings before finding one of the tall windows that usually filled the room with light. Sometimes, late at night, they'd catch some more nocturnal critters sneaking out of the woods and Emma, as much as she hated nature, had to admit it was kinda cool to have deer practically living on your doorstep.

(Less so when they were eating your garden.)

Nothing was out tonight, however, and so, like a dark secret, Emma admitted, "I took something from her. This girl? She'd already been left alone, helpless, and abandoned by the one person in the whole world that she have _always_ been there for her and I took it."

"Took what, baby?"

"Her hope," she breathed.

Alone in the last place she had seen her, Carina probably thought her mother would still find her because that's where she would come back for her. Emma would stand by that decision to take her out - it was good for her both now and in the long run, but in doing so she had forced Carina to face the hard truth that her mother probably wasn't come back.

Neal shifted and squeezed a thigh. "Flip over, would you?"

" _Neal."_ She had just admitted this horrible thing and she wanted the night to just be over already so that she could forget everything about this stupid, horrifying day.

"Turn over," he repeated more firmly, "I haven't finished yet."

"We should have done this upstairs." The words came out somewhat muffled as she flipped onto her stomach, pressing her cheek across folded arms, limiting her view to their blank television screen (no one ever remembered to close the cabinet doors).

Somehow Neal found a way to straddle her back without putting all his weight on top of her. "You would have fallen asleep. But first of all," his fingers dug into her shoulders, kneading them with a firm touch that he would need if he wanted to get all the knots out, "Hope isn't some finite thing. You can get it back. I'd think you would know that better than anyone."

Well, at least he hadn't tried to placate her with some of his optimistic mumbo jumbo about how she hadn't stolen all of Carina's hope. Probably because he knew how it felt. Just as well as she did.

But yeah, okay, maybe Emma had gotten better at looking on the bright side. _Maybe._

"Secondly," he continued, hands blazing a trail toward her lower back, "we don't know what her experience in the system will be. Or even what things were like with her mother before. I know that you wound up in your share of sucky places, but she might luck out and not get one of the horrible ones. "

She sat up slightly, leaning on her elbows, pointedly ignoring Neal's attempts to chide her as she looked back at him, chin resting on her shoulder.

"That's the thing though," said Emma as Neal settled back into a sitting position, Emma twisting until she was propped up on her knees next to him. "You can wind up with the nicest people in the world and that doesn't change one very big thing. It doesn't change the fact that it's _always_ temporary. They're not really your family. They didn't pick you. You don't even know if they really into the whole 'help out a kid' spiel or if they just needed a way to make a quick buck. You're an assignment and when you're gone they'll move on to the next one. Because if they really cared then they'd keep me."

Neal raised a brow, but Emma just barreled on ahead. "And you don't know if that's true obviously. But it's a thought," she tapped her head with a finger, "this tiny little niggle in the back of your head with each new home until you realize this hurts less if I don't get attached. You start to distance yourself and so, even if they do care enough to try and reach out, you don't let them in because you know that it won't last. And the next move just cements it. Over and over again."

Understanding and sympathy lingered in Neal's gaze. But not surprise. In fact, Emma had the distinct impression that he had always meant to lead her here.

"You can save people from a lot of things," said Emma heavily and, now resigned, she climbed to her feet. This time Neal let her go, "but you can't save someone from just being _temporary."_


	3. Argo Navis

**Argo Navis**

"We should plant a garden," Neal had said the summer after they had finally moved in to their very own home and Emma had snorted because her thumb was the polar opposite of green. But when he insisted, "I'm serious," Emma scoffed and he finished, "We could even grow our own food. We've got the land for it."

It was one of those ridiculous ideas that she had come to simply expect from Neal and one she also expected to fail miserably because when the hell was he gonna find the time to maintain something like that? It wasn't like the house where they could come and go, leaving it to when they had the time. And she definitely wasn't going to help.

"I don't do nature," she'd told him, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate as he went to work.

"You should," he shouted back to her, "it's relaxing." And she hummed a muted agreement because Neal working on the yard - all sweaty and dirt-smudged and manly - had nearly the same effect on her as watching him work on the house had.

But Neal planted fruits and vegetables and herbs and then, getting artistic with it, started on something more akin to landscaping, moving on to flowers and shrubbery, and she wasn't one for that sort of stuff usually, but he did a nice enough job of it that Emma even requested the one thing that she _did,_ maybe, have a sorta fondness for.

"I didn't know you liked sunflowers," Neal said and he sounded pleased but distracted, like he was now making plans for something more than just a seedling or two.

"It's not love or anything," said Emma, brushing this off, "But they're nice and yellow. _Tall._ "

Quite honestly, Emma had always found them protective and, like he had known exactly that, she had come home one day to find them lining the walkway to their front door.

He moved on then to a stone patio and a fire pit and then bird feeders and then a timed animal feeder, both Neal and Porter getting obvious joy at seeing the animals it attracted, drawing them into view just beyond the fence.

But the property truly transformed under Neal's care - he always found the time for it, like he didn't consider it a chore at all, and Emma had to admit that she had come to appreciate the look of everything, even if she couldn't be bothered to do much more than turn the sprinkler on and off.

But then Hugo showed up and suddenly the Swans were back in her life, though Eliza was sick and dying and for the first time in a long time Emma just wanted to punch something. Maybe even take apart the toaster. But those things left a trail of destruction that would only set a bad example for Porter and, possibly, prompt Neal to drag her into an emotional conversation that she couldn't possibly have when she didn't really understand what she was feeling.

So she settled for pulling weeds (at least she hoped they were weeds) and the more she tugged, the better she felt. She made enough progress that the boiling anger calmed to a steady simmer and when Hugo invited her to dinner she accepted because it seemed like the thing to do when someone's mother (that you, maybe, shared) was dying.

Somehow it turned into a weekly thing.

Eliza was usually too ill to join them and so it was Hugo that asked personal, prying questions about her life while Bennett tried not to look like he was listening too closely as Neal turned her half-hearted answers into generous stories, Porter following it up with questions of his own. After dinner, they would duck in to see Eliza if she was awake, something that happened on a more frequent basis until suddenly her color was back, her appetite returned, and they were talking about her starting Chemo again.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Hugo was grinning stupidly as he shared the news. "The doctors say her counts are better then they have been in over a year. It's like a miracle."

Eliza wrapped Emma up in a tight hug, "Or magic."

That word made Emma flinch, which must have been noticeably visible because Neal gave a warning cough behind her. But even that couldn't distract her from the whispered, "Thank you," Eliza gave her.

Later, after they put Porter to bed, she asked Neal, "What do you think they want?"

Neal glanced over his shoulder in the midst of unloading the dishwasher, "Pardon?"

"Well, they've clearly been scamming us." Neal stared blankly. "The Swans." A beat. "Eliza and Bennett. Maybe not Hugo. He seems a little too wet behind the ears, but that could be an act. He _is_ a lawyer."

" _Wow_."

"We're not giving them money."

"They gave _us_ money."

She gave him a wry look because it hadn't been that long since she and Neal had pulled that sort of shit. Admittedly they hadn't reached that level of con, but still. "I'm just saying don't go all bleeding heart and offering to help them out when they start complaining about the hospital bills."

"Alright," he agreed, closing a cupboard and approaching the counter, "but you've got to promise not to act all suspicious," he wrapped his arms around her from behind, "maybe even think about accepting the fact that they, maybe, just wanted to make amends."

Emma rolled her eyes, but leaned back against him anyway. It wasn't like she wanted Eliza to die or anything. She wasn't _that_ bitter. But it just seemed so odd and Emma had spent a whole afternoon in the garden, tugging at weeds to drown out thoughts about magic and miracles.

And then the unexpected happened.

Neal found her in the yard, phone clutched in his hand, and Emma settled back on her heels, wiping dirt off on her jeans.

It turned out Bennett was dead.

"They found him this morning," Neal had joined her in the grass, his hand rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. "Heart attack. I'm so sorry Emma."

She jerked her head, indicating that she heard and then returned to her chore with, if possible, even more vigor because now she had yet another thing to drown out. They never even talked. Not really. Bennett had always been present during her visits. He was always clearly listening, intent and focused, but she never spoke to him directly and he had never tried. Never pushed.

And _now_ ...

She kept pulling.

So really, she had perfected it into an art by the time Porter pulled his disappearing act, dragging them into the disastrous situation with Carina.

And fuck, was it a mess.

Red tape and Bureaucracy made up the inner workings of the foster system, making it damn near impossible to navigate in a timely manner. This dashed any hopes Emma had of gaining access to Carina for anything, let along something as simple as a quick hello, secretaries and social workers all parroting the same bullshit lines about confidential information and safety concerns. Things Emma understood in theory, but really the only thing it seemed to do was eat away at the trust Porter and possibly Emma had previously earned from the young girl.

It had definitely rocked the once unshakable faith Porter seemed to have in her.

Everyday he would rush into the kitchen, his once excited, "Did you find her? Did you find her?" becoming more and more dejected with each shake of her head, chipping away at the hope Emma had never wanted her son to lose.

And it wasn't like there weren't loopholes around the varied laws and restrictions they were trying to wade through. But while Emma and Porter had managed to forge a connection with Carina, it had not lasted long enough to warrant what the state would call kinship. And even then, Carina's age meant she was still too young, nixing Emma's attempts to at least earn some sort of visitation rights. She got the intent behind it, of course, you didn't want just anyone wandering in off the street, talking to impressionable kids, but it still seemed far too isolating for Emma's liking.

It was all very tricky and even her job wasn't of much use to her. Emma's wheelhouse typically consisted of older kids - teenagers, usually, who had had a brush with the wrong side of the law and wanted a fresh start or those who hoped to start the shaky steps toward more independence.

It left her sifting through laws and loopholes while making angry phone calls and hoping for a change that would at least get her a foot in the door. And was that even the right approach? What if she did find Carina and managed to earn back her trust? What happened when the merry-go-round started up all over again, moving Carina to a different home, making her once again unreachable. That was how this worked. The only chance of an escape was adoption.

And honestly? The chances of that seemed unlikely. Carina was too young for visitors, but past that magic age. Wannabe parents wanted someone they could raise from a seedling to mold however they would like.

It was more likely than not that all she had to look forward to for the next decade was a string of foster homes.

It was frustrating and so she went back to her chore of choice, Effie joining her as she tugged on a particularly stubborn weed.

"Hey," grunted Emma before stumbling backwards onto her ass, nearly missing the giant grin on her friend's face before she noticed the wriggle of fingers, and the glint of a diamond on one in particular. " _Hello._ Leo actually popped the question?"

(Emma would gladly take credit for this later. It had been her idea to set them up, after all.)

Effie nodded, looking about ready to burst. "Last night. After the game," Emma rolled her eyes because of course, "No, it was very spontaneous. His team didn't even win, but he said I made him happy anyway." And Effie must have been pleased because typically baseball was a sore subject between her and Leo so Emma smiled brightly, offered a hearty congratulations, and opened her arms for a hug, feeling her spirits lift considerably as Effie shared the exact details of what when down on the walk back to the house to put the coffee on.

Effie sobered when they sat at the counter, pulling out a folder that put Emma on edge.

"Carina?"

Effie nodded, and when she spoke her tone was somber and business-like, "Her full name is Carina Channary Phang. Mother is Channary Phang. No father listed and the grandparents, as far as I can tell, came here from Cambodia. They passed before Carina was born. Which was," Effie flipped a page," in Virginia. Back in May of Oh-Four."

" _So,"_ Emma drawled as she scribbled out names and dates, "five."

Effie hummed a confirmation and shifted papers. "Now Channary does have a record. A couple of drug possession charges, though nothing from the past six months. But from that I was able to trace an address and a landlord. I'll track them down, see if they have anything interesting to say."

"Thank you." She mustered another smile, trying her best to look excited because that was really all they could do for now and Effie had all sorts of exciting things to share. "Now tell me what are we thinking date wise?"

Effie grinned.

X-x-x-x-X

Emma spent a lot of the next few days staring at screens dejectedly, limited resources meaning that she didn't find anything more than a couple of dead grandparents, drastically lowering the chances of finding a distant living relative that might actually give a shit.

Effie, however, was working with a whole different set of resources that proved helpful.

"They got a lot of complaints about her from the neighbors. The landlords, I mean," Effie told her near the end of the week. With Porter still stuck in school, they had settled onto stools, hands wrapped around warm cups of coffee between a plate of chocolate chip cookies. "Noise , mostly, from what sounds like a string of bad boyfriends. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time she left Carina."

"Porter hinted at that," Emma noted, absently dunking a cookie in her coffee, "something about how her mom always comes back."

"True," agreed Effie before raising a brow, "Back then though she at least had the sense of mind to leave her with someone."

"Boyfriend or the landlords?"

"Landlords."

Emma pressed her lips together tightly, "And they weren't close, were they?"

"No," said Effie, leaning back. "They said they were happy to do it. I think they're a bit on the older side so they probably didn't mind the company, but then an hour turned into five and before they knew it she was leaving Carina there overnight, not even bothering with a phone call. The last time it happened she didn't show up for the better part of a week. They threatened to call child services on her."

Emma bit into her cookie and filled into the blank, "So she pulled a runner."

"Took the kid and disappeared. Not surprising, she left them with one hell of a clean up in the process." Effie shrugged, her mouth forming a grim line, "but I'd guess that's when she started leaving Carina on her own."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "And no one else noticed?"

"She found a place a bit like yours actually," Effie told her, making a vague gesture, "you know, off the beaten path. So not a lot of neighbors around _to_ notice and as long as she remembered to drop the rent money off, the landlords didn't bother to stop by."

"Did they mention the last drop off?"

"Three weeks ago," Effie leaned forward, "it sounds like it was a week, maybe two for Carina."

That fit Porter's shift in behavior.

Still. A couple of weeks - a couple of _days ... hours,_ even _-_ was like an eternity for a child.

Emma traced the rim of her coffee cup. "What do ya think? Will she show back up?"

Effie shifted and then, somewhat regretfully, "We think she already did. Or she just never intended to come back at all. Situations like this you don't expect to find much, but there's always something hidden away that a person takes with them when they leave. Money. Jewelry. Drugs."

"Their _children,"_ finished Emma darkly. But she got it. Really. She had something like that. Once.

Had her own mother been like Channary? Stuck in a downward spiral, unable or unwilling to pull herself out long enough to care for something more than herself.

Emma had spent years trying to tell herself something different because a hand-knitted baby blanket with a name must mean something. But honestly? She didn't even know if her mother _had_ made that. _Emma_ could simply belong to some other girl out there with loving parents, their only regret that they had lost that pretty little blanket they had spent weeks, maybe months, working on.

She knew exactly one truth about her birth parents.

They hadn't loved her.

Because good parents who loved their children didn't leave them. Not so thoughtlessly and certainly not without someone, at the very least, to take their place.

And, just like that, Emma knew exactly what she needed to do.

The problem was it was Neal-level of crazy. Which was exactly what she told him as she paced in front of him on the bed, attempting to gather up the courage to tell him.

"And they worked out, didn't they? My crazy, big ideas?"

Emma hummed an affirmative because okay, yeah, and Neal tugged on her hand and she let herself collapse onto the bed, curling into him, staring out their window - something that extended from the middle of the ceiling to the floor, filling the room with starlight. Emma loved a lot of things about the house, but this was perhaps her favorite detail. It gave the illusion of sleeping under the stars, just like they used to back in the days of the bug, without actually having to do so. Now though, it allowed Emma to stare blankly at nothing as her blood quietly boiled. Exhaustion had set in from the continued lack of progress and Porter's growing disappointment and worry had him wrongly wondering if he never should have brought Carina home in the first place.

They could make it right. But was it really? The right thing to do. Or would she and Neal just make the same mistake Eliza and Bennett had made, taking on more than they were ready for?

"Look." Neal shifted a bit, propping himself up on an elbow before pointing to stars, tracing invisible lines. "Argo Navis."

It wasn't like Neal to give into her avoidance tendencies, but she was grateful at the chance to stall anyway. "Arc Navy?"

"Argo Navis," he stressed, "See? It's a ship. The Argo."

Shit at playing connect-the-dots, Emma didn't even bother trying to figure out what he was pointing at. "Sure."

Neal rolled his eyes and used a calloused hand to direct hers, retracing something only he could see. "The ship was built on the order of Athena to go and retrieve the Golden Fleece from King Aeetes. But to get it they had to cross the Black Sea. Clashing Rocks guarded the entrance, ready to destroy anything that dare try to pass through them. No ship ever made it through."

Emma raised a weary brow. "Except the Argo."

"It was the first," Neal agreed, threading their fingers together. "They made it across the sea and brought the Golden Fleece home."

Motivational stories and literary analysis really weren't her thing. "What are you trying to say, Neal?"

"I'm saying that the crew of the Argo faced certain death but carried on." He squeezed her hand, fixing Emma with a fierce look that made her wonder if he knew, "I've never known you to do any less and I certainly wouldn't expect any different now."

Emma softened and then the words just sorta burst out of her, "I wanna adopt Carina." Neal looked ready to say something but she had a whole argument prepared and now that she started, she damn well was going to get it all out before she lost her nerve. "It's a pretty big thing, I know, and there would be a lot to talk about and a lot of hoops to jump through, but she's at that age, Neal. The age where you have a folder thick as a fist and potential families start to wonder if you're even worth the trouble. But she is. Every kid is. And I know -"

"Let's do it."

"- it's something we need to take our time with. To talk it through -" Emma blinked and repeated. "Let's do it?"

"Yeah." He wore that big, ridiculous grin of his. "I mean, how many times have we gone up against impossible odds now? But rather than drowning at the Clashing Rocks, sinking to the bottom of the Black Sea like every other ship before it, we've always made it to the other side. Just like the Argo. We can do this. Together."

Emma grinned. "And you really want to?" She peered at him suspiciously. "You're not just agreeing because you think it'll make me happy."

"I really want to," Neal smiled softly, "I want to bring her home."

"Home."

Just saying it lifted this giant heaving weight from her shoulders. It felt right, like she had just spent weeks working with missing puzzle pieces and no picture on the box. But now she could see the end result and it was something beautiful.

But Neal had a remarkable way of simplifying incredibly complicated things and while Emma wanted nothing more than to take him at his word, she knew she couldn't. Not yet.

"I can see you're about to say my name in that reluctantly exasperated 'I want this, but I also think you're ridiculous with all your hope and optimism' way that you've so cleverly mastered." Emma snorted and Neal pushed off the bed, missing her accompanying eye roll. "But I get it."

"Get what?" But Neal was already ducking out the door, holding up a hand, silently telling her to wait and when he returned, it was with a big folder. When Emma opened it, she found it chock full of information about adoption and foster parents and even research about kids who had gone through different types of trauma.

She swallowed and wiped at her eyes. He'd been thinking about this for a while. He'd probably always know that they would end up here.

"I get that adoption is a long and difficult process. I really do. But when I think about all she's been through and then all she could go through," he shrugged, "well, it would be worth it, wouldn't it? If we can at least save her from that."

"Yeah." The word cracked and she cleared her throat, forcing herself to go through the list of all the things she knew they needed to consider. Like: "Porter."

Neal gave a very serious nod. "We'll talk to him, but Em, I'm willing to bet a year's worth of garbage duty that if I go downstairs right now and ask, Porter's gonna be on board."

"That doesn't mean he understands what he's agreeing to." She picked up a brochure on child psychology. "We won't bring her home and suddenly everything is sunshine and roses."

"We talked about having a baby," Neal pointed out, "and we both know the extent of what that transition period required."

That was another thing. "And you're ready to give that up?"

"Or put it on hold." He grinned sheepishly before barreling past Emma's potential protests, leaning forward, hands gently capturing the side of her face as he leaned forward until they were knee to knee and forehead to forehead. "It doesn't matter. It's about this family and what's right for it. It would be easier to walk away, yeah, but I don't think it would be better in the long run. Not for us and certainly not for Carina."

Emma turned her head, kissing Neal's palm. "Unless something in your fake past raises the alarms." That had been her next concern. They didn't let anyone walk up to a desk and just take home a kid.

"You're forgetting, Em," he murmured, "that I work with children and they don't just let anyone do that. Whatever magic your old buddy worked holds up."

" _Neal."_

"Ah. The 'you're an idiot' Neal makes an appearance." Emma gave him a dry, blank look because it wasn't funny (though she probably should have realized). "I'll tell you next time."

"You better." Emma sighed. "Why didn't you say anything? I mean, clearly you've been thinking about it."

"Because I didn't want to just talk you into it. I know how hard everything has been with Eliza and," he gave her an apologetic look, "Bennett. They meant well, I think, but they screwed up. We both needed to be sure. And I am, Emma. Do you remember that night on the couch? After you took Carina to the hospital?" Emma nodded, grateful that he was content to keep talking as she could feel the tears beginning to gather once more. "I hated seeing you like that ... I hated knowing that Carina was all alone and, as mad as I was, I hated thinking we somehow let Porter down. I wanted to help, but nothing seemed like it would be enough, you know? Because it wouldn't fix that feeling we're both far too familiar with. Not if it wasn't permanent. And we won't be able to erase the damage that's been done, but maybe we can start filling the holes with love and family and the promise of hope. It took us far too long to find what we have. I don't want Carina to have to wait."

" _Neal,"_ Emma breathed.

He smiled softly. "And there's the 'you're kinda amazing slash I'm sorry for doubting you' Neal. Which one do I get today?"

Emma shrugged, lips inching upwards, even as Neal reached over, wiping away a stray tear with the caress of his thumb. "Both, maybe."

"Wanna hear something kinda funny?"

She pressed her lips to his fingers, and then pulled him towards her. _"Please."_

"It's not called Argo Navis anymore." Emma offered a distracted hum, lips trailing a path along his jaw, fueled by his faith in them (and, maybe, now that she no longer had to think, his weird, eclectic knowledge). "Back in the eighteenth century some French guy took the constellation and divided it up into three parts." He took her hand, kissing the pads of her fingers in a way that she felt all the way down to her toes, and then directed her in the direction of the constellation again (she still couldn't see it.). "There's Puppis now. That's the stern. The sail became Vela. And then, finally, the keel." He looked back at her, trailing his fingers up her arm, " _Carina."_

Huh. _Funny._ And she smiled softly because Neal, she knew, would probably try to tell her it was like fate or something equally absurd.

X-x-x-x-X

Ultimately, both Emma and Neal agreed that they should at least talk to Porter before officially moving forward, but when they settled across from him during breakfast, Porter eagerly piling his plate with bacon, breakfast potatoes, and chocolate chip pancakes (all his favorites), he seemed confused that they would need to ask him at all.

"I put it on the board," he told them, mouth full of pancakes.

Neal grinned stupidly and Emma sighed. Apparently _Little Sister_ hadn't meant a baby, after all.

"Okay. Here's the thing, Port." Emma reached across the island and stole the syrup back from Porter before he could put himself in a sugar coma. "We just ... We want to make sure you understand, honey, that it won't be easy. It's not always fun having a sibling. And it's not going to be easy for Carina to just come into a new family."

She might not want them at all.

"I'll help her," Porter insisted. "I can share my toys and introduce her to all of Mr. Portobello's horses."

Emma melted like butter on a heated skillet because even if Porter had obviously failed to grasp the full complexity of what she meant that didn't mean it wasn't sweet.

"What your mom is trying to say, buddy, is that it won't be just us anymore." Porter stared at his father blankly and Emma could practically hear the silent _duh._ "Hang on. I just mean we may not always be able to give you our undivided attention. Or Carina may want to do something that you don't want to and so we'll have to compromise."

Neal glanced at her, questioning, and Emma gave a satisfied nod because that explained things, she thought. _Maybe?_

Porter, at least, took the time to think about it quite seriously over a piece of bacon.

Finally, he asked, "But I would get to pick sometimes right?"

Emma smiled reassuringly, "Of course."

Once again, Porter perked up. "Okay."

"Okay." Emma bit her lip and turned to Neal, wondering if they had missed something because that had seemed a little too easy.

"It'll be hard, Port." Neal leaned forward a bit, putting himself at their son's eye level. "Adoption is a long process. Things won't happen right away. So you'll have to be patient."

Porter gave a very serious and a very solemn nod, "I understand."

(Unfortunately, Porter had inherited his mother's complete _lack_ of patience.)

"But we're here," Emma said (Neal giving a significant "yes" on the heel of her words), "and we can talk things out if you get frustrated or if you have questions."

"Anything you need or want to talk about," Neal emphasized.

Emma nodded. "Whenever you want."

"Even when we're stuck in traffic and Mommy starts yelling at the other drivers?" Porter was all wide eyes and fake innocence.

Neal snorted.

(It wasn't her fault that no one knew how to drive.)

"Maybe wait until we park," Emma decided, "but sure."

"Mommy?"

Emma leaned forward expectantly, "Yes, Port."

"Can I watch cartoons now?"

"Of course." Then, before he could make it past the kitchen and fully remembering the copious amount of syrup he had piled on, she added, "but wash your hands and face first."

He grumbled half-heartedly on his way back to the sink and Emma smiled, squeezing Neal's hand, love and hope filling her heart.


	4. Hope

**Hope**

They should, Emma thought, make a short-cut for people like her and Neal. Not seriously. But, well, she had already suffered the system, hadn't she? They had both felt the pangs of abandonment. They both worked with these types of children every day. So did they really need to sit through twenty-seven separate hour long classes and answer questions about their marital status ("He built us a house," seemed like far greater proof of commitment than a piece of paper, but whatever), just so that someone with a degree (that Emma also had) could tell them how to deal with something they had experienced personally.

Don't get her wrong. She respected the process. Mostly. It just got frustrating when this tiny, little innocent person remained in a place Emma had considered her own private hell while they filled out paperwork and sat in lectures.

"It wasn't nearly so complicated back in the day," Eliza told her when Emma visited with her during one of her chemo treatments. The doctors, at least, said she was responding well this time around. "It was a lot of paperwork. But I don't remember the classes or the home visits. Bennett," Emma squeezed Eliza's hand when the name caught in her throat, "well, he used to joke that adopting a kid was easier than buying a car."

Emma wanted to say something about it being easier to return one too, but she was working on the whole bitterness thing.

"Times change, of course." Eliza sighed. "You should talk to Hugo. He might be able to help."

And he did. It was Hugo that found whatever loophole that got them to a point where they could at least finally see Carina.

Not frequently. Not in their home. But they could talk to her, at least.

She had already switched homes twice, leaving the first after only a week due to a space problem and the second due to behavioral issues. She would yell and throw tantrums and sometimes even refuse to eat. Her grades had started to suffer and there was talk of holding her back.

"It's a hard adjustment," Laura, Carina's current foster parent, told them. "When they come in later. It usually involves some sort of upheaval or trauma and it's a whole new way of life they have to get used to."

Porter went right up to Carina before they could stop him and wrapped his little arms around her in a tight hug that she didn't return and told her, "We're family."

They got permission to take her out to lunch where she picked at her food while Porter grew increasingly antsy when she continually rebuffed his attempts to draw her into conversation. He told her about their family and Mr. Portobello's horses, all the toys he would share with her, and what Emma could and could not cook. But nothing seemed to spark any interest from Carina and sensing both her and Porter's growing frustration, Emma pulled Carina aside while Neal distracted Porter with a dog sighting.

"I'm sorry it's taking so long." They settled on a park bench and Carina swung her legs back and forth angrily.

"You promised. You promised you would help my mom find me."

That wasn't what she promised at all, but Emma could understand why Carina would think that.

Emma shifted, settling on the ground so that she was looking up at Carina, who petulantly turned her head. "I know you're still waiting on your mom." Emma gently guided Carina by the chin, until they were looking at each other dead on once more. "But us taking you into our family isn't meant to replace the one you already have. We just want to make you a part of new one. So that you don't have to be alone."

Something like hope sparked in her eyes. "And so Mommy will know where to find me?"

Emma didn't want to lie, but she couldn't exactly tell the full truth either. Because Channary, eventually tracked down and found guilty of a few different crimes, wasn't exactly in a position to find her daughter. Still, Emma and Neal had discussed it. What they would do if Channary did ever come looking for Carina. Emma wanted to slam the door in her face, but Neal had been a tad more sympathetic.

"What if it was Porter?" he had asked, "What if it was a Porter that we had given up and he was giving you a second chance to be in his life? Wouldn't you want that?"

Desperately.

So they agreed that things like supervised visits wouldn't be completely off the table. Because, maybe, Channary had made a choice without really knowing the consequences. Which didn't excuse it. At all. But, well, she hadn't willingly given up Carina, had she? Not completely. And besides, it would be Carina's decision. Especially since, by then, Carina would be old enough to fully understand the situation.

Now though, the whole truth would hurt too much so Emma nodded. "She'll know where you are, but she has reasons why she can't be with you right now."

Carina pursed her lips and Emma smiled tightly. "It's going to be a little while longer. Until we can take you home. But we're here if you need us. Do you still have the number I gave you?"

Carina shook her head.

Emma couldn't exactly blame her for throwing it out.

"For whenever you want," Emma insisted as she handed her another slip of paper, "about whatever you want."

She did call. Well, at first, the phone would ring. It would ring early in the morning and later at night and even during dinner and, when she or Neal answered, no one would actually say anything, causing Emma to grumble about those damn telemarketers. Neal cottoned on eventually, however.

"Carina?" he asked patiently and the surprise of it caused Emma to drop a soapy pan in the sink. "One second."

Neal handed her the phone, a smile playing on his lips. Because this marked a step, however small. "For you."

"Hey," greeted Emma brightly, pressing the phone between her ear and shoulder as she dried her hands. "Everything alright?"

Carina made a non-committal sound and Emma settled onto one of the stools. "Well, I have some good news if you'd like to hear it?"

"Okay," she murmured. Emma could hear the muffled noise of kids playing-slash-fighting in the background.

"Our last home visit is scheduled for next week," Emma told her, "and if the social worker likes what she sees then we'll be able to bring you home."

She felt comfortable enough to say that, considering this last run-through a mere formality compared to the others. They had already passed the big hurtle. Neal, otherwise known as John Neilson, failed to raise any red flags during his background check, something that had Emma half-ready to cut and run every single time someone showed up at the door.

(One day she would have to track Frank down and thank him properly for whatever magic he had pulled. It had been worth every penny.)

But Leo, Effie, Eliza and even Joy had all helped them with the necessary recommendation letters and the previous interviews with the social worker seemed to go smoothly enough.

This didn't draw Carina out enough to bring up whatever had pushed her into calling and so Emma talked about everything but. She told her the funny things Porter said during dinner and tried to get a gage for some of her interests so then, maybe, she wouldn't have to arrive to a completely empty room.

She liked the color pink and the Little Mermaid and her favorite Harry Potter character was Luna Lovegood.

"Port likes Harry," Emma told her having had to endure an intense debate between father and son about this very subject. Emma, through the process of osmosis, had decided she preferred Ron (she liked a good funny guy). "He's got a thing for heroes."

Carina warmed up enough that she let out a disappointed sound when Laura found her and told Carina she had to get ready for bed.

"You can call tomorrow night," Emma said, "don't be afraid to say hello."

Later, after they had settled into bed, Neal asked, "Was she alright?"

Emma couldn't say for certain, of course, but the lead ball in her stomach felt significantly lighter with the promise of hope. "I think she will be."

X-x-x-X

A few Notes: This last bit is more of an epilogue than a chapter, but the original just kinda meandered on and I realized it was more vingettes of Carina adjusting that couldn't really be wrapped up in a single story. It's a process, right? Eventually, I think I might try and make a separate story for drabbles because there are other scenes that got cut too (the plan really was to tell everything in a more linear fashion, but once again it just wasn't working the way I wanted it to).

Also, I don't think you can actually see Argo Navis from New York, but I claim artistic license there. Or Neal just knows that Emma can't play connect-the-dots. That conversation changed from the original draft (it was Neal suggesting adoption - but I wanted Emma to be more ... proactive, I guess? Or at least less like she's the one always going along with Neal's schemes), but it's still kinda my favorite convo they have. It came after the name Carina (I wanted to name her after a constellation because of the significance of stars to Emma and Neal), and as I let Neal explain it, the theme just sort of evolved and I wound up naming the original fic after it.

As for the adoption storyline? That's actually something of a headcanon I have for canon Emma (before I stopped watching anyway). As much as I love Mommy!Emma, I just always envisioned the whole giving birth in jail/giving up Henry as a traumatic enough thing for her, that I couldn't really see her having more kids. At least not biologically. If she did decide on it though, I always figured she'd lean toward adoption (regardless of her partner). And not only that - but someone a bit older that she could save from going through what she did. That's just my thoughts on it though.

Thanks for reading!


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